my girl's tall with long hard eyes
by perilousgard
Summary: She's bored, which must be why she has decided to plunge her hands into Mako's hair with no warning at all. The first touch of her fingers brought a shiver down Mako's spine, body automatically tensing, but she doesn't say anything, doesn't try to stop it. Femm!Makorra.


Hannah & Francesca wanted female Mako so I WROTE IT FOR THEM

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Mako has never let her hair grow past her shoulders. On the streets, when she couldn't be sure of the next time she would be able to bathe, it's easier and more practical. When it needed to be cut, she would take a knife and hack at the thick, inky strands until she could feel the wind around her ears and brushing like fingers against the back of her neck. Her reflection in grimy store windows and murky puddles on the street showed a wiry, tall girl with uneven, jet black hair and a scowl.

As a probender, she kept it even shorter. Long hair was a hassle when it came to the aggressive moves she needed to use in the arena. In her heavy padding and helmet, and with her thin frame, Mako was often mistaken for a boy by some of the fans. She puts such low stock on her appearance that it's never mattered much to her.

She sits on a soft tatami mat now, hair brushing her shoulders for the first time in her memory, trying to focus on the thick black characters lining the pages of the book in her hands as Korra weaves in small braids. It's a warm day on the island, and they've left the doors open so the spring breeze can carry in the scent of trees and burning incense. Korra is sprawled across the floor, barefooted, her pants rolled up to her knees. She's bored, which must be why she has decided to plunge her hands into Mako's hair with no warning at all. The first touch of her fingers brought a shiver down Mako's spine, body automatically tensing, but she doesn't say anything, doesn't try to stop it.

It feels alien, but it's comforting.

Korra is making the kinds of braids that water tribe women wear for special ceremonies back home. When she was named the Avatar, her mother wove braids and beads and feathers into her hair and there was a bonfire. She's never really learned how to do them correctly, herself, but it's close enough and all she really wants is something for her hands to do, anyway. And the texture of Mako's hair is nice, silkysoft and smooth like satin. She hums a little, bending closer towards her work, and as her chest brushes against Mako's back, the other girl suddenly stills and sits up.

"I don't like having my hair long," she says suddenly. "I'm not used to it."

"Oh." Korra blinks because she thinks she's done something wrong. "Sorry, I'll take the braids out."

"No, that's not what I mean." Mako feels her face grow hot as she reaches up and runs her fingers over the smooth new ridges in her hair. "Uh, I didn't mind it. But I think I like it better when it's short."

Korra nods. "Well, I could cut it for you? I can't promise it'll be pretty, but I did my own hair a few times and it came out okay."

Mako nods after a moment, because it saves her from having to pay a hairdresser, and she doesn't think Korra can do a worse job than she does.

Minutes later, Korra is back with a pair of scissors and Mako closes her eyes as small triangles of black hair fall past his shoulders and litter the floor. The Avatar's hands are not delicate; they snarl and yank and the movement of the scissors is not precise by any means. It's funny, when those same hands can so gracefully bend the elements to her will, can make bending look like an elaborate dance. But she says nothing, no matter how hard Korra pulls.

Soon, Korra is putting down the scissors and prodding Mako towards the mirror, where she studies her new haircut curiously. She can't help the smile that crosses her lips when she sees that it's cut just as unevenly as it had been by Mako's own hands. The sides are different lengths from the back, and several strands hang at mismatched lengths. She runs her hands through it once.

Korra bites her lip. "Sorry, I guess I'm not as good as I thought I was when I was a kid."

"No," says Mako, who feels like he looks exactly like herself. "Thank you. This is exactly what I wanted."

Korra grins, and leans in close to brush a few stray hairs from Mako's newly bared neck, fingers ghosting light as air over her skin. "You look kinda edgy. It works."

"Edgy?" Mako raises her eyebrow.

"Yeah. You know, you're Miss Cool-Under-Fire! You can be pretty unforgiving in the arena."

"Hmm."

"It's one of your more attractive qualities."

Mako's head whips around, and the look in Korra's eyes is so completely innocent that she's momentarily lost for words.

Korra winks very deliberately.

"So," Mako says, finding her voice at last, "you find -_ edginess_ – attractive?"

"Definitely," she replies, fingers still stroking back little flyaway pieces of her hair.

She swallows as Korra drifts closer, deciding that after all this time, all this circling they've done of each other like a pair of satellites, all of the reluctance and confusion and denial, it might just be time to give in. "Good to know."

The Avatar's smiling mouth closes the distance to hers.


End file.
